Nicest Thing

So there are a few things going on, but can we just start for a moment with the fact that I got an e-mail from Suzanne Finnamore thanking me for loving her books and for writing about them? And then she said some very nice things which were totally only to be polite, but I do not care, because I was still all googly because dude, SUZANNE FINNAMORE, and then I died. The end. And then I sent a lot of ALL CAPS E-MAILS to Swistle, who loves her as I do, and who responded appropriately and in ALL CAPS as well.

Totally beats the pants off of the time I wrote about Ben Folds in a less-than-complimentary way and one of my longtime readers announced that her husband was his bassist. Yes, this is much better.

In other, SIGNIFICANTLY less exciting news, my dish towels have all disappeared and I imagine they’re having a party somewhere together, celebrating their freedom from a life of dishpan fibers that no amount of fabric softener can cure. I’ve devoted an inordinate amount of time to thinking about their disappearance, and wondering why the left me. Was I that bad? Did I mistreat them? Are their feelings hurt? WHERE ART THOU, DISHTOWELS?

Still feeling faint, by the way, which means that all I can do is write about DRIVEL.

In pop culture land, I have, once again, picked up the People’s “Most Beautiful” issue — it is like crack to me — and have, once again, become increasingly irritated by the whole thing as the pages wear on. For example, I nearly shot myself in the face when I saw Raquel Welch held up as some sort of paragon for older women, and can I just tell you how frustrating this is? Because don’t TELL me that Raquel Welch hasn’t been scalpeled and Restylane’d within an INCH of her (very long) life and it’s just … well. It’s also interesting to me that Jennifer Lopez said that a young woman has the face she was born with, while an older woman gets the face she deserves, and can I be honest in that my first thought after reading that was that she deserved a face that had been hit by a SHOVEL after the whole “I just knew I could” thing re: her “totally natural” pregnancy that Julie articulates better than me? Honestly, that infuriated me. Infuriated.

You’d think that honestly, after getting a few e-mails from people I’ve written about (why, TODAY, in fact!) after something I wrote here, that I would LEARN, because I now know that it’s totally possible for Raquel Welch to send me a nastygram denying all Botox and insisting she is just naturally wrinkle-free, despite having one foot in the grave. And yet I press on! Because look! I am about to talk about …

Scarlett Johansson. Have you, um, heard the single? Because is she serious? Is she actually seriously SINGING, or is that … well. I don’t even know what else to say, but I just don’t know what sycophant told her yes, YES, Scarlett! CUT AN ALBUM. YOU ROCK, sister. (She doesn’t. At all. What IS that?)

All of this is put into remarkable context after talking with an acquaintance of ours who used to do celebrity publicity. She affirmed that yes, celebrities ARE that insane and self-absorbed and …well, everything awful you read about them is true. Stars, it seems, are not like us. Unless we are the type to throw hissy fits because we don’t have the alternating orange and white candle scheme we SPECIFICALLY REQUESTED. (True! Contract riders! ALL TRUE and DEMANDED by the celebrities! I KNOW!)

I meant to write more. I did. And then I got tired and also goofily authory starstruck.

Happy Wednesday! Is it me, or is this week flying?

*Kate Nash

32 comments May 6th, 2008